Gray Stained Clouds
by notnow
Summary: Ch 6. Rangiku, on Gin. Often their exchanges occurred within the camouflages of night, a violet saturated one with a smattering of moon at the tips of the sky. [Drabbles in the world of Bleach relationships]
1. Gray Stained Clouds

_Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach and I own this story._

1. Gray Stained Clouds

_Pairing: One-sided RenxRuki_

_AN: My first shot at Bleach! Please leave a comment if possible. I appreciate any constructive criticism. This is something that I imagined taking place after ch 181.

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Gray stained clouds smear dimness across the sky. It rains again, its droplets pattering on the world below. The precipitation dots the ground, then connecting as the sky continues to brim over. Every corner resonates with its sound of _sush sush_ and _plink plank_.

It is nearly a black ink night, save for the ivory tower that juts through the sky and his blazing red umbrella (that goes with his blazing red hair and every other brazen thing about him). He walks beyond the borders of the city and scans the formidably shadowed landscape. His intense eyes search for the severe black tresses and the willowy frame.

For a moment, he thinks he has lost sight of her in this dark surrounding. Then he sees the pale yellow sash cinching her slender waist. He muses on her attire. How difficult she's made things for him by adorning a charcoal colored robe, as if planning to blend in with the night and maybe disappear. His annoyance soon fades when he notices how her sleeves droop to the side, its fabric heavy from the wetness. The base of her yukata clings to her skinny ankles. The usually buoyant locks are now matted against her skull; he realizes for the first time, the way in which her skull is dainty like the rest of her body.

_What the hell is she doing out in this weather? And in the middle of the night? _

The girl appears to be searching for something in the air. Or mourning after its loss. Whatever it is. Whoever it is.

He walks to her and holds the umbrella over her head. It doesn't take much of a stretch for his arms; she is significantly shorter than him.

She idly turns and faces him with her childishly wide eyes. A bead of rain had landed on the wispy tips of her thick lashes, so she simply blinks it off. Strands of hair graze over her eyes in a familiar manner. When he sees it, his fingers nearly act on impulse, remembering how they always felt bothered by the way her bangs must get into her eyes. He never did anything about them before; he certainly was not going to do anything about it now. Especially not now.

"Rukia, are you trying to catch pneumonia? A ridiculous way to die after all the trouble in saving you." His voice comes out gruffer than he intended.

"Renji…" she whispers after she averts her eyes. He hates the absence of her usual spunk. He hates the non-existent surprise in her response. Instead, her voice is stifled from by ill-concealed disappointment in seeing him appear.

"Really? What the hell you doing here, staring off like that? Didn't you do enough of that while you were locked up?"

She persists on staring at the ground.

"I had to look all over the place for you. This was really the last place I'd ever think you'd be. You're lucky too, if I didn't stumble here by chance, you would have probably slept out in the rain."

"I was going to go back anyway. It's not like I don't know the way."

"Che! You've been gone from soul society so long, I didn't doubt that you could've forgotten your way around here." Rukia doesn't reply, making Renji wonder if he should suppress his probing. Maybe he should learn to let it slide for once.

So he does, crushing his interrogative tendencies and permitting his questions to go unanswered. "Let's walk back already."

She nods her head softly instead of answering with words.

In that instant, he fully realizes the distance in between them. Because there is no reactive astonishment in seeing him there. Because the way he had perused the entire city for her created little significance for Rukia. She has set aside some empty spaces inside her heart, he surmises.

And they are not meant to be filled by him.

He scoffs to himself. How absurd that more things could change in the span of a few months than the fifty years he knew her. He tried to deny it for some time, despite the reality boring into him each time he encountered her. It became painfully clear the day _he_ left.

That orange-headed brat.

Somehow he did it. Pushed Renji into a secondary role and emerged himself as the hero—the hero to Renji's princess.

And what was more irritating was the fact that _that _Kurosaki Ichigo was sincere. He had genuinely wagered his life to protect Rukia—all while Renji scrambled to figure out which side Renji belonged on (if only he had been resolute since the beginning).

Perhaps the only brat is Renji.

But yes, back to the day Ichigo left. He had watched the two exchange their goodbyes, himself growing vexed at the thought that such simple and common words could carry out with so much intimacy. They seemed branded to a private world, the way they smiled and thanked each other. Just the two of them, understanding a language so foreign to others. How left out Renji felt, like someone looking in from the outside, seeing only the movements of lips, and uncomprehending the words exchanged.

How transparent it is now, the rate Rukia and Renji's relationship deteriorated.

It's not over though. He's resolved to saw off the rotting pieces and cultivate the small fragments—wherever there remains a chance.

While sharing the umbrella, they walk back together, wordlessly, as the rain begins to plunge down like pellets.

The moment he let her drift away was a mistake, but Abarai Renji will once again, hold fiercely what he loves. He won't abandon things of importance this time.

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---Aug 26, 2005 


	2. Honeysuckle and Peppermint Soap

2. Honeysuckle and Peppermint Soap

_Pairing: IchiRuki  
10/16/05

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She was a soul reaper for god's sake. Her job may have been thrust at him, but at one point, his mask cracking, hollow smashing duties were done by her.

She was bossy too, so unladylike, always throwing high kicks here and there (mostly there, the sole of her foot right smack in his face). So uncouth, that bossy, foul mouthed, napoleon-complexed, workaholic tomboy.

Brows furrowed, fists clenched, the adolescent approached the bathroom door armed to complain. The hardened tissues of his knuckles, formed from years connecting with ugly delinquent faces, pounded against smooth oak.

"Oiiiiiii, Rukia! Just how long are ya planning on stayin' in there! You wanna blow our cover? My family should be back any minute now. And we need to leave soon. Rukia? You listening?"

Still nothing. What was she doing, primping? Feh!

"RUKIA?" He rapped his fists once more but his knuckles hit air. With the door swung ajar, the scent of honeysuckle and peppermint wafted by his nose; it was a mingling of sweet and spicy.

Not that he was an expert-perfume scent-identifier. Not his kind of thing, it's just that Yuzu had begged, eyes misty, lips quivering and all (forcing him essentially), for Ichigo to buy her the specific soap. No, not one that smells like bubblegum, but a sophisticated one such as honeysuckle and peppermint.

Soap is soap. Why couldn't she use a regular one? Good thing Karin wasn't a girly girl like her.

"I heard you the first time. And why are you scrunching your nose up in the air like that?"

"What took you so long? Why do you smell like Yuzu's soap…." He trailed off yet she didn't seem to notice as she was mildly amused with pissing him off.

He received a smart look back, one that irritated him to no end.

Or at least would have been if he wasn't so distracted.

"Why, were you saving it all for yourself?"

Ichigo forced a frown back at her. "Sh-shut up, we're going to be late."

She strutted by callously, retorting without looking back, "It's funny you should be so punctual after complaining the other day how much you hate festivals."

Ichigo's usual wit driven replies failed to retaliate. His eyes were fixed on the back of the trailing cherry blossom patterned, pale saffron yukata-wearing shinigami. The attire was utterly feminine.

He didn't like it at all.

Not at all, because…well…thick black cloth was… more…more appropriate? More appropriate because…

And then he finally admitted it to himself.

A Death God yes, but she was also just a girl…

One who inspired his heart to get stuck in his throat.

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_**AN:** Okay, so not angst driven like last time. What? I was feeling positive and cutesy today so I decided to finish this nearly ditched idea. _

**Thanks Reviewers!**

**YL:** Reading your fics was one of the things that inspired me to write my own Bleach fic. And about the one-shot you wrote using Inoue's pov, reading the latest Bleach chap makes me realize how right on you were… imagine the look on that flamer's face..Lol!

**Ringo Nonohara:** It made happy that u saved this as a fave. That is great encouragement, and I really did move to write another IchiRuki (w/a little bit of Renji).

**Seal-chan: **He he. You made me all smiles. And thnx for taking the time to review my other fic too.

**Kupo Stiltzkin: **Please spare me though I lied about writing a longer one. But with you in mind, I did start a multi-chap one to incorporate the character development. Again thnx for your constructive feedback.

**Ray-chan: **Ah! I love Renji too, and I especially love him all lonely and tragic. I appreciate the reassurance that they're IC.

**KuroganeAremias: **though it's late, here it is, hope you're not disappointed!

**sinmay: **ur nameis familiar, think I've seen it while treading thru And yeah, I'm anti-fluffy (well at least against the OOC kind of mush).


	3. My Apologies

3. My Apologies

_Pairing: GinRangiku

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Ancient poets would describe you in the same fervid manner as they do of universal beauties. You're a goddess clad in night colored fabric, and its loose, vast sleeves billow around the delicate space between your elbow and wrist.

That ample figure of yours, shaped by swerving lines, spills sensuality through the plunging neckline of your robe. Your face basks in the radiance of your hair—sunrise splashed tendrils pouring down like rays. And then your eyes—how to describe your eyes? As vain an effort as numbering all the stars. One ends up awe-inspired and breathless, but without success.

Yes, that's what the poets would say.

And I'm no poet.

No long winded verses or romantic lines from me. Just vague phrases. Maybe a gaze—beneath eyelids shut four fifths of the way.

You rested that cold blade against my neck. Encircled my wrist with your warm fingers. Then, I couldn't offer anything but that angular smile. Then, I had left and did not—could not—tell you where to.

I really did wish you could have held me just a little longer.

Still can't tell you my reasons now. Not yet.

The much needed explanations will come someday. Until then, bear with me.

And forgive me.

_End Chapter

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_AN: I admit I'm not an expert on Gin and Rangiku. I tried my best to control the mischaracterization...but a little is inevitable from me. _

_---__12/17/05_


	4. Imbedded in Dialogue

4. Imbedded in Dialogue

_Pairing: IchigoxRukia _

_AN: Language warnings. This a companion piece to my other fic While the Blade Rusts. 2/09/06

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_There were days when you were relentless..._

"Sulking is not a very good expression for your face."

"I'm not sulking." Then after a breath, "And I didn't ask you."

"Is that so?"

"You're pestering me again. Are you bored or something?"

"A little. Why the bad mood?"

"This isn't a bad mood."

"Oh, so this is your good mood then?"

"It won't be if you keep at it."

"Keep at what?"

"I know what you're trying to do."

"What am I trying to do?"

"STOP. IT. RUKIA."

"Marvelous. Didn't know your face could match your hair. Well, more like it matches Renji's hair."

"Alright! Alright! I'll say it! I was jealous! Will you quit it now?"

"Ha. Too easy."

_Days when you wavered..._

"Tell him. The truth will come out sooner or later."

"At the moment...I'll opt for later."

"Why? What are you so afraid of, Rukia?"

"You know exactly what I'm afraid of."

"Does it make a difference? Being this way, this isn't like you."

"And you think _this_ is like me? To...With..."

"To be involved with me. There. I finished your sentence."

"You're being—"

"Callous. Because you still can't admit it. Just say it aloud! You want to be with me. You are with me, right? Rukia? For god's sake! Even with just the two of us...After all this time, you still can't say it."

"This isn't easy, Ichigo."

"And this is?"

"Maybe we can turn back while it's still not too late."

"Don't say shit like that to me."

"Ichi—"

"Do _you_ want to turn back? I sure as hell don't."

"But—"

"Besides, I think he already knows."

_Often, you worried..._

"I think. Maybe. She loves you."

"You can't dissuade me."

"She understands this world better. She isn't an outsider."

"I won't be dissuaded from being near you."

"You're so thick headed!"

"Keh! The same can be said about you."

"You know, with me, you always end up scowling."

"I'm always scowling anyway."

"So you do admit it."

"Shut up. You trapped me into saying it." A long pause. "Rukia."

"Hmm?"

"It doesn't have to be perfect."

"...I can't help thinking perfect is what you deserve."

_But occasionally you allowed yourself happiness..._

"That one! That one looks—"

"Like Chappy."

"You didn't even look."

"I didn't have to—Aggghh! What'd you hit me for?"

"Look again."

"What for? They're just a bunch of stinkin' clouds floating about. They all look the same."

"Look. Now."

"Okay, I'm looking."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well what do you see?"

"A bunch of stinkin' clouds—masses of vapor essentially. Completely ordinary. Hey! Quit hitting me already, you violent bitch!"

"That one! See? It's a strawberry you fool. A strawberry."

"That blob right there's a strawberry?"

"Okay, so a partially bitten one."

"Your point of view..."

"What about it?"

"That explains your crappy drawings."

_Only to go back to your harsh sense of duty..._

"Did you tell them yet?"

"I.."

"Guess you didn't."

"I'm sorry, Ichigo."

"What are you saying sorry for? Just be sure to tell them next time, or else I'll do it."

"Sorry."

"I just said you didn't have to—"

"It won't work out. I'm going back, Ichigo."

_But because I know where you truly want to be..._

"I have no intention of letting you go."


	5. To the Song of the Hero

5. To the Song of the Hero

_Pairing: IchiRuki_

_AN: This was originally intended for the ending to my Blade Rusts, but I think it'll be better this way instead. What moved me to write this (short little AU-ish thing) more than anything was the song Signs2 from the Berserk game OST.

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"Rukia, I've come to get you back." His shadow spills across the vast distance, enveloping everything in the room, cloak coming alive, extending and acquiring all with its black touch. "For good." Still, she does not breathe, cannot pry her violet eyes from his looming figure. They're stuck on him even as he steps in from the doorway. "I'll keep wielding this sword with you next to me. I won't do it any other way. I won't do it alone anymore." The conversation is just between the two of them now; the others have become like mere furniture, fixed silently to the background

An uncontrollable quiver forms on her lips and she feels her eyes go moist.

He brandishes the massive steel, his heavy steps resonating against the silence of the enormous room. He stalks toward her unchallenged. Still trembling but feeling more like herself again, she grins back. "So this is a rescue?"

"Something like that. Though a bit different from last time."

"Just remember—this _still _won't make me the damsel in distress."

"Ah." Now twenty steps away and still closing in, he continues without lifting his eyes off hers.

When the twenty steps are cut down to five, he pauses thoughtfully, rumpling orange tresses with bandaged fingers.

And he grins in boyish fashion. "I'll let the 'rescuee' have an opinion just this one time."

_End Chapter

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---03/31/06


	6. On Repeat

5. On Repeat

_Pairing: Rangiku x Gin (slightly AU). _

_Written per KupoStiltzken and Kuroaki's request.

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Often their exchanges occurred within the camouflages of night, a violet-saturated one with a smattering of moon at the tips of the sky.

Lips cerise, she drank in the sounds of his approach. Footsteps light like air, fluid as water. Easily disguised beneath the crickets' chatter, they were audible only to those listening in wait. He appeared some distance before her veranda steps, clothes dripping wet from god knows where he's been.

She pretended she hadn't been waiting long. He pretended he hasn't a clue of it.

"Yo. Seems our moon's hidin' again." His dagger of a chin pointed up to the sphere behind the silver sheets of cloud. Ichimaru Gin always said his hellos like that. It was a sort of dance he seemed to indulge in, circling her with his random, obscure wit and that trademark saccharine smile.

The wood railing was splintering pieces into her hands. Rangiku endured leaning, ignoring how they bore deep into her skin. Reflexes which normal people had, she didn't. Nothing in her body told her to withdraw from the sting; that part malfunctioned, but the part that allowed her pain didn't.

Her heart wasn't as black as she liked it to appear. And neither was her skin gray steel.

"Was it raining wherever you were at?" she chided, carefully cold and lightly amused.

"No Ran-chan. Where I was at, there was this pond that I had to fish myself outta," he chuckled, explanation bringing more questions than answers. "But being rained on does sound less embarrassing than falling into a pond." It took those who knew him—not knew him well, for there were few if any of those, but knew him just enough—to understand such seemingly sarcastic a statement from Ichimaru Gin was in fact a truthful one. To accuse him of being too ambiguous in explicating, however, would not be an exaggerated assertion. "Hm, it's cold," he tacked on mindfully.

"It's summer," retorted she, finally off the rail and folding her arms across her white-robed breasts.

"For a fellow in wet clothes," and pinching them between forefinger and thumb, Gin raised the fabric adhering to his flimsy shoulders, "summer it ain't." When she stayed unbudging, he pointed his black-sleeved arm to the leaves that rustled in the trees. "It's windy, ya see?"

"So it is," she flat toned. "So it is." In effect the man below grinned back more plastic than before.

"Then Ran-chan," he beamed in a slightly sad way, another piece from his montage of contradictions. "See ya around." One light motion and the limber arm he raised above his head flicked at the wrist in good bye.

The pain of the slivers in her skin dulled out. She blinked hard. Bit her lips. And she, not able to bear the sight of his retreating back, surrendered. Was she forever doomed to live the nights yearning for him and the days cursing herself for it?

"GIN."

His figure, tall and, stern—a rarity for his form, paused, silhouetted black against the white birches lining the yard. The green on its branches shivered and trembled in the passing breeze. She watched the slight turn of his head and caught the words he mouthed.

_Don't_

Her strawberry blond tresses wafted with the summer drafts,

_Keep_

Tided against the small of her back,

_Letting_

Its ends flitting, twisting and curling near her waist.

_Me_

"Gin," she said again, but this time softer and quieter.

_Don't keep letting me, _he continued to mouth.

"GIN!"

The crickets ceased in their song.

He let out a drawn out sigh. "I believe we have a problem on our hands. A big problem." He faced her with the entirety of his front side, grin less coy, but still far from transparent. "Neither of us knows when to quit the other." He ascended the stairs; one by one the steps creaked, and the night critters began again. "No, that's not it. Neither of us knows how. Is what I should say."

"It's simple," said Rangiku to the only man on earth talented enough to torture with the happiness he brought. "All you have to do is stop leaving." She wept silent in the expression of her eyes, wrinkling the skin above the bridge of her nose, her face all kinds of contortions, maybe as ugly as she felt.

She remembered he never broke his promises.

"That, Ran-chan," he trailed, "is something I can't do. Very sorry."

The secret to his success was he never made any.

"Sorry means you won't leave. Which obviously isn't the case."

He sighed once more, and inched closer to her, taking her cheeks, vulnerable and warm, in his cold palms. Too dizzied by his nearness, she did not resist in the slightest. She could only let him press closer to her, forehead against forehead, and then feel herself reciprocate. The familiar heat radiating from his chest immersed her, and she, feral and hungered, consumed it. Her lips thirsted for his, and her lips drank.

They spilled their clothes along the room. Sleeves, sashes, mantles—his and hers—draped the ground, wedged themselves between the doorway and trailed towards the futon.

Amorous fingers weaved through her miles of strawberry blond locks, gripping them, mussing them, stroking and caressing. Over his shoulders the paper doors stared back at her, its lines a perfect linear their relationship could never be. The thinly veiled moon peered in through the space the door left ajar.

She knew she would come to regret this tomorrow, when the light goes from violet to gold, as she did yesterday, like last week, the month before, and the month before that. But flesh on flesh, he was at his barest, and his often lidded eyes gentle amber. That, she could not learn to forgo. Always never.

Sprawled across his naked chest she contended, "Why do you keep doing this to me?"

He answered, a pause of a breath in between, "Because you keep letting me."

And they lay exposed to one another for a moment longer, dreading the golden light that would invariably seep in through the many cracks. For then, he would be forced to leave her again.

_End Chapter

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_--6/18/06_


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